Page 91 of My Dark Divine
He heard it. And now, he’s mirroring my words.
He keeps looking at me, completely unbothered, as the bliss evaporates from my face without a trace. Panic builds, and I begin shaking my head, not even sure what I’m trying to accomplish. “No, West,” I choke out, watching as he stands up. I scramble onto my ass, frantic to pull my T-shirt down and hide the mess he’s made. “I didn’t?—”
“Mean it?” he finishes for me, hurt flashing in his sapphire eyes despite the fake smile he wears. “But I do. Idomean it, Venetia.”
My skin prickles with goosebumps, and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. The world seems to tilt on its axis, the familiar sounds and sights blurring into a chaotic symphony of fear. My lungs burn with each shallow breath, and a deep, aching tremor vibrates through my body.
“Please, West, justlistento me,” I beg, my hands working to loosen the knot on my left ankle first. “Untie me. I… I can explain.”
“Explain what?” He takes a step back, and I struggle harder to break free, but the knot is too tight. It’s just too fucking tight. “Everything is just the way it needs to be. I gave you what you wanted—the only thing that fuckingmatteredto you.” He narrows his eyes, and a laugh bubbles up from his chest, though the sound lacks any humor. “Or is it my cock you wanted? Because this isn’t enough for you, is it?”
Fuck. No, no, no, no.
“No, I?—”
“You don’t have to say much, Venetia. Just tell me you fucking want it,” he cuts in. “Tell me that all you want is to fuck me because that’s the only thing we’ll ever be good at—and nothing more.”
With each word he speaks, my heart bleeds deeper, the sting cutting through open wounds. “It’snottrue!” I screech, feelingmy muscles growing tired from all the effort. “I was—I was drunk and high when I said that?—”
“Don’t fucking give me that,” he snaps, ignoring the pathetic sounds I make along with my feeble attempts. “These weak fucking excuses. How are you even brave enough to blame it on drugs?”
The scent of his cologne, usually a calming aroma, now feels like a suffocating fog. His hand clenches into a fist before he nervously rubs the spot beneath his nose, his lips curling into unsettling smiles, up and down. And suddenly, the realization crashes into me, shattering the fragile remains of safety.
He’s high. This was the reason for my unease. I didn’t pay much attention earlier, but now I see the signs—the large pupils, the rapid breathing, the unnatural expression on his face, and the way he fidgets as if he wants to crawl out of his skin.
“You relapsed?” I ask weakly, my voice cracking on the second word. My vision dims, the sharp lines of reality dissolving into a hazy, indistinct mess. “You’ve been sober for?—”
“Stop!” The sound of his scream makes me flinch, my body reacting on its own. “Stop making that fucking voice and acting as if you care about this!”
Despite all my words and actions, I care. I don’t know why, but I do. The feeling broke through the hatred and disgust, and I need him to realize that. I just want him to hear me. “But I do?—”
“I said fucking STOP!”
I let out a shriek as he grabs the chair from beside my table and throws it against the wall at the end of the room. My hands shoot up to cover my face, tears pouring down my cheeks in streams of sorrow.
He doesn’t want to hear me.
“Untie me,” I plead, holding onto the fragments of my common sense. My breathing is labored, the rock in my chest growing heavier with each second, and the salt of my tearstightening my skin as I refuse to give up, despite my strength wavering with every passing moment. “Please, untie me, West. I… I just need to touch you.”
My throat tightens, words dying in my mouth. The panic, a churning storm within, erupts. I try to clutch at him, but he stands rigid, a statue of indifference. His breathing, quick and shallow, is the only sign of his awareness as I’m left to drown in the waves of my terror.
Yesterday, I was angry and confused by everything he made me feel, and what I said to Grace wasn’t true. It’s just my nature to push away and deny any goodness that tries to enter my life. I’m not trying to excuse my behavior. I just don’t want him to think I feel this way about him. I want him to hear the truth, to explain it, to say the words that will make him change his mind and help me.
But the words won’t come.
I feel like I’ve lost my voice. The passage of time doesn’t matter; the claws of my past will always reach me, dragging me down and keeping me trapped in the shell they created. The shadows are too dark, too consuming for my fractured mind to overcome, and I know I’ll never find the strength to escape.
“I’m sorry.”
Weak pleas tumble from my lips, devolving into indistinct croaks and whimpers, as if I’m a broken record. For a fleeting moment, a spark of mercy seems to flicker in his glistening eyes, but it vanishes when his face twitches, contorting into an expression I never thought I’d see from him.
Disgust.
He was the only one who found beauty in me, the only one who stayed despite the venom of my hatred and anger.
And now, he looks at me with the disgust I always knew was waiting beneath.
He leaves, the slam of the door a physical blow to my already shattered spirit. I open my mouth to scream for him to come back, but only a strangled gasp escapes. The words, the pleas, the accusations—they’re all locked away, swallowed by a wave of despair that crashes over me.
